


Chinese Finger Traps

by symbioticSimplicity



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gamzee's too really oh god, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Karkat's fucking mouth, M/M, Quadrant Confusion, Shibari, Size Difference, Size Kink, Xeno, dom/sub dynamics, my tags are a nightmare fuck me, nooks and bulges, this is less brutal than it looks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symbioticSimplicity/pseuds/symbioticSimplicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not unfamiliar with fear, with the feeling of being hunted, but it’s different to see your hunter right in front of you. It’s different when it’s Gamzee. </p><p>__</p><p>This is much less brutal than this snippet suggests I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chinese Finger Traps

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first offical fic on this site as well as my first Homestuck fic so I'm not sure how well I nailed down the character's voices. Do not be gentle. >:3

 

 

You’re not sure which one of you you’re more pissed at.  Gamzee for sure since the whole thing is intrinsically his fault and even if it weren’t you’d find a way to blame that ass clown. But also you from about five minutes ago for not seeing this coming despite how many years you’ve been with your lanky dumbass matesprit.

The last few days or so Gamzee had ‘suggested’ that maybe you two could switch things up in the bedroom. Well, kind of. His exact words were ‘How does a motherfucker feel about getting his kink on?’

While you’d never admit it aloud, even under pain of torture via Strider’s lame as fuck raps, you were hardly vanilla. You hadn’t made a mention of it because Gamzee seemed content with your current sex life and you didn’t want to just foist your desires on him, you’re enough trouble already. When he brought it up himself you just about grinned.

When he brought it up, you hadn’t been expecting this complete shit pile of idiocy although you really fucking should have.

Gamzee, the strong ass fucking branch thin Highblood you call your matesprit, had wrestled you down like you’d always dreamed and then instead of taking out handcuffs like a normal fucking troll, he’d put each of your fingers into a fucking Chinese finger trap.

“Gamzee god fucking damn it where in your hole filled sopor rotted pan did you get the fucking inkling that this would be anything other than fucking stupid?” You growl, trying to tug your fingers from the surprisingly resilient toys.

“Shoosh little motherfucker, you’re not gonna fuckin be able to up and get your escape on from all them.” The fucker has the nerve to grin down at you.

“No shit you grubfucking bulge gobbler, that’s why you’re gonna take them off of me!”

Gamzee shakes his head, making the massive mane of black hair on his head lick at his cheeks and neck. At least he’d had the fucking decency to leave off the damn greasepaint for this, but in the wake of all the other sins he’d committed against kinks today you aren’t really in the mood to appreciate that.

“Nope, no can do brother, don’t got anything else to keep you all up and immobile.”

“You had a fucking week Gamzee, and you’re the one who suggested this goddamn train wreck to begin with! Are you seriously so fucking stupid that with a damn week you couldn’t think up something other than this shit?”

The highblood’s normally placid, albeit slightly glazed over, purple eyes locked on you, quiet aggression visible in them. As brave as you tried to be, that look always scared the holy hell out of you. It was almost like you could see the future in his sopor enlarged pupils, the day where you could no longer pacify him and all that rage would rip you apart. It was absolutely terrifying but at the same time, given your current arrangement, it make your body tingle a little.

“I’m getting to thinking I might have something to gag a motherfucker.” He edged, his already bass low voice curling itself into something sinister.

God you loved it when you could get him like this.

“That supposed to be a fucking threat?” You mean the words to come out with more force, but it’s hard to breathe let alone snarl.

“Nah.” Gamzee says, cocking his head in a way that makes him look all the more terrifying. In mostly dark lighting of your respite block all of his angles and edges are even more pronounced, making the generally gentle giant you knew actually seem capable of the carnage of his caste.

“Then why say it asshat?” You toss back.

“Warning.” He replies, but his eyes are on your lips now and there’s a hungry look in them, “Gonna make a motherfucker think twice before sassing his superior.”

That kind of talk from anyone else would call for a fight, actually even Gamzee would get his giant ass beaten six feet into the ground if he’d said that in any other context. But as it is now a shiver traced its way down your spine.

“Yeah?” You ask again, your breathing coming a little heavier, “That’s easier said than fucking done ‘motherfucker’.”

Gamzee’s smile widens and you swear you can see each and every one of his fangs. They’re all so sharp and so big, the largest the size of your fucking pinkie finger. With his claws long and sharp and tough as cut glass, his keen eyesight and his sheer size, he was made for destruction. With his hands where they are, pressed close to your thorax, just beside your bloodpusher, you know he could kill you in a second and you couldn’t do a thing to stop him. Compared to him you’re soft and weak and fragile, physically at least, and the knowledge never fails to make your head spin.

You know he knows how you feel about this, the unspoken imbalance between you. Usually he doesn’t push it, choosing to hunch to appear smaller or filing his claws blunt. But in rare times like this, you think he might want to wreck you just as much as you want to be wrecked.

His hand wraps around your throat, so big his fingers nearly touch at the back, and pulls you up so your face is close to his.

“Watch and fuckin learn.” He growls.

You resist moaning by a breath.

He slams you back down onto your compusent plat—bed it’s much easier to just say bed, especially when your thoughts are starting to go fuzzy around the edges. Gamzee lets you breathe for a second before he resumes his teasing. He’s hovering over you with his hips just out of reach from yours. He’s licking his rough tongue slowly over each of his fangs as if contemplating how much force he’d need to break your skin with them, to taste some of your ‘miracle’ blood. You’d let him if he did it, you trust him though you could never explain why.

When he doesn’t move you thrash a little, hoping to regain his attention but the hand on your throat tightens just enough to dissuade you from moving any more.

“Easy Karbro, today a brother is gonna teach you the meaning of patience.”

You’d like to talk, or to yell more precisely, but you can’t. You can’t really even move your tongue without feeling where his hand is gripping you around your throat. You’re trapped in silence and god you’ve never been happier. Your damn mouth ruins everything, being unable to use it is a damn godsend.

 He tips your head back with a certain hesitance that tells you that he’s still holding back the majority of that insane strength. His claws never leave your skin, the whisper of a threat, but his lips come down to join them. They’re rough and chapped and you really need to get the fucking idiot to understand that he needs to drink water to stay alive goddamn it, but at the same time the texture of them makes you shiver. Roughness isn’t what you associate with Gamzee and the blatant contrast has your bloodpusher doing tricks.

“What do you think I should do first to be gettin with teachin you your lesson brother?” His voice is a growl and fuck fuck fuck when did fucking Gamzee of all trolls learn how to be so goddamn sexy.

You try to respond but with his hand where it is, the fogginess in your head, and the sudden lack of words on your tongue, all that really comes out is a series of gasps.

“What was that little motherfucker?” He asks rhetorically.

Again all you can do is gasp.

He leans in and licks over your cheeks which are flushed and hot and the lick actually feels so good on them what the fuck.

“I get you, brother, I get you.” He murmurs, his voice still deep and dark and a whole host of things that have no place in a flushed romance but at this point you don’t give one single fuck, “Stay still.”

He takes his hand from your throat and you’re tempted to struggle just to see what he’d do but you can’t find the will to disobey. He smiles at you, and for just a moment you can see the sweetness that’s hiding in him. He’s doing this for you, you realize, somehow he knows exactly what you want. Fuck fuck fucking fuck.

He stands then, his horns brushing the damn ceiling, and goes to grab something that you’d have to turn your head to see. You don’t turn.

When he comes back there’s a purple rope in his hands, and it doesn’t escape you that it’s the same color as his blood. Something in you purrs at that, the sense of ownership it implies.

“Took me a hot minute to find something that’d up and do the job the way we’re both wantin it done.” He says, running his long, sharp fingers over the rope, “But seein as you’re lookin at me like a barkbeast at dinner time I went and did it right.”

You risk nodding slowly and he gives you another brief flash of teeth.

“Gonna take a beat a patience, shit takes a good long time to motherfuckin do up right.” He’s sitting down beside you now, one of his hands roaming over your thorax.

“What’re you going to do with it?” You ask tentatively, and fuck your voice is rough like you’ve been screaming again and you can only imagine what it’ll sound like after you actually have.

“Think you’re missin a certain word of fuckin respect if you’re gonna be up and adressin me.” Gamzee’s tone is sharp but controlled and his gaze holds a threat in it and for a moment your breathing stops all on it’s own.

“What’re you going to d-do with it, _H-highblood?_ ” You don’t think you’ve ever once called him that and it sits a little heavy on your tongue but in the same way his hand was heavy on your throat.

He rewards you with another sharp smile before explaining, “There’s this thing one of the human bros showed me. Got a name like a fuckin puzzle but it has to do with ropes and tying up and control. With the way you’re up and shiverin everytime I use my strength on ya, figured it’d be a thing you’d get you wantin on for.”

It takes a second to sort through all the bullshit in that statement to get to the root of what he’s saying, especially in the state you’re in right now but you manage. Oh my fuck he can’t be fucking serious your luck is _not_ that good.

“S-shibari, Highblood?” You ask.

He snaps his fingers and points at you, “Yeah! That was the fuckin name. You heard of it Karbro?”

You nod and try not to actually scream. Your bloodpusher is working so hard you can hear it in your auditory sponges and you think you may even be shaking. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

“You good brother?” He asks, looking down at you and clearly noticing the change in you.

“Y-yeah, yeah, er, yes Highblood.” You answer giving a nod as well. You don’t want him to see how excited you are but you can’t hide it and jegus who told him all your fucking secrets?

“Good.” He says and the simplicity of the sentence stuns you for a second because he never says anything that short, seems like today is going to be a fucking crash course in contradictions.

He pulls you out of your thoughts by pulling you up by your hair and much to your embarrassment you yelp. He doesn’t pay you any mind as he positions you on his lap with very little extraneous force. You feel like a grub every time you sit on him like this as he completely dwarfs you.

But this time instead of holding and cuddling you, his claws are tearing through your clothes with absolutely no regard for them at all. He even scrapes you a couple of times before you’re rid of your shirt.

“Hey! Jackass, don’t go fucking up my shit just because you’re too lazy to undress me like a normal fucking troll.” You snap almost by reflex.

It doesn’t even take you ten seconds to realize you really ought to have kept your fucking mouth shut.

“Now usually a motherfucker is down with his most flushed of brothers getting his expression on with all them sharp words, but right now you ain’t supposed to be sharp at all. Do remember makin mention of a gag if a brother couldn’t shut his wicked tongue the fuck down. Too bad, I wanted to hear you.”

You’re slightly smarter than Karkat from thirty seconds ago and despite the instinctual urge, you don’t say a damn word. He reaches behind himself, not bothering to disentangle himself from you, and grabs a white cloth tied into a knot. The cliché factor nearly opens your mouth for a rant but you somehow pull yourself out of it.

“Open up, motherfucker.” He says and for once the curse seems like an actual swear rather than an unintentional pronoun.

You open your mouth.

He wedges the gag into your mouth without a whole lot of tugging and pulling and suddenly you wonder how many times he’s done this. Not that you didn’t need gaging from time to time but this was still the first time he’d done it to you and yet there was a certain ease in the way he got the thing in that made no sense to you.

“Least it looks pretty.” He says almost to himself, “Lips all spread open like you’ve got an idea a takin something in there.”

The blush that had been staining your cheeks burns bright again with renewed vigor. Son of a fucking bitch how in the fuck is he doing this fucking shit!

“Now if you can handle your shit a minute, we’ll get to putting this show on the road.”

As much as you don’t want to make yourself submit, you cannot help it. You want it, you just don’t want to look like you want it, but you want it too much to care. Fucking hell you’re a mess and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

You still, despite the nervous energy pinging though your blood and he chuckles. The motherfucker is actually fucking laughing.

You take it back you hate him.

Before you can start trying to wiggle the fuck away from him, his hands are on your hips and his strong grip makes another wave of submission wash through you. Fuck you hate everything about yourself that makes that a fucking thing.

Like he knew exactly what just happened he waited a moment before he started with the ropes. He laced them in a pattern, surprising you with how he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Couldn’t find a pair of actual fucking handcuffs but the asshole was apparently a fucking expert in Shibari. Figures.

The complaints are more to keep you distracted than due to any actual ire. The feeling of the ropes slowly tightening over your skin, holding you and restricting you, is starting to go to your head. That they are his color as well is adding an extra dimension to the whole thing.

It takes just north of an hour before he finishes with you. He looks you over and found you flushed and panting with your bulge writhing against the pants he’d mercilessly left on you. You almost can’t look him in eye, not like this. But the look full of pity and hunger that is dominating his features right now is stroking the edge of panic that’s clinging to your nerves just enough to allow you to.

“You look like a motherfuckin present all trussed up in my color like that Karbro.” He says, and you can hear the restraint behind every single syllable. He plucks the gag from your mouth, evidently more interested in your voice than continuing the punishment.

If you said what you are about to say in any other circumstance you’re sure you’d tell Strider to come back in time and punch you for it. You’re still debating it as is.

“I-if I’m a p-present Highblood, y-you should o-open me up and s-seewhat’sinside.” The last few words run together as you nervously try to spit them out.

Gamzee doesn’t seem phased by the awkwardness of the cheesy ass statement. His pupils contract down to slits, sideways like a bleating hoofbeast unlike most other troll’s whose are straight up and down, and his lips stretch back over his fangs. You’re not unfamiliar with fear, with the feeling of being hunted, but it’s different to see your hunter right in front of you. It’s different when it’s _Gamzee_.

He’s on you in a half a second, his speed still disconcerting as it was when he was an acceptable fucking height. His hands plant themselves firmly enough on your hips to probably leave nice bruises and oh god you moan. You’ve never had a black partner but if it felt anything like this, you’re going to have to go about pissing someone off real good.

Your mind doesn’t get much more of a chance to wander as Gamzee has decided your pants are as much an inconvenience to him now as they are to you. He doesn’t shred them like he did your shirt, but instead just rended the relevant parts. He clawed out the fucking crotch of your pants and for some reason it is the hottest fucking thing you can even imagine.

You’ve soaked through your boxers, those were a lost cause before he even put the ropes on you. You don’t lament their passing as Gamzee’s claws mince them to bits too. But you do lament the fact that he seems to have to fucking stare at you each and every time he undresses you. He says he’s got to appreciate the miracle that is you and you’re all ready for him to ‘get his peep on’.

He doesn’t. There’s absolutely no fucking in between, not a goddamn second’s warning before he’s ramming his huge fucking bulge up inside your nook.

It should hurt, for fucks sakes he’s filling you up enough to make your thorax expand around him, but it doesn’t. Your nook absolutely devours him and you throw your head back to let out the most primal sound you’ve ever heard yourself make.

He’s not much better, shaking the way he is with his pupils still stuck on predator. His bulge inside you won’t keep still and he’s making this _noise._ It’s half way between a growl and a moan and you think you could get off on that alone. God it’s so loud you can feel it in your nook. Fuck if he keeps going like that you’re not going to last.

Scratch that, you’re not going to last no matter what. Gamzee’s started to move his hips in that way he’s got. You don’t need much motion with his bulge thrashing inside of you, but he always does it anyway. His hips rub against your shameglobes and the velvety underside of his belly is rubbing your bulge too and it feels so good you can’t even scream. Although, given the brush of his thumb under your eye, you might be crying.

“You, nnng, okay brother?” Talking is an obvious effort for him as the words come out more growl than word and you’re fairly certain your bloodpusher is going to fail from overworking.

But you nod, frantically enough that with so much of your blood relocated down south of the border it makes you a little dizzy to do.

You open your mouth to thank him, probably, but all that comes out is a flood of, “Gamzee yes, fuck so good so so good please I can’t take it I’m going to die if you don’t finish me soon please fuck I need it Gamzee oooh!!”

You can fucking see the effect your words have on him. You can see it and you’re going to lose your goddamn mind. You were already dancing over the lines between quadrants but the way his shoulders roll and his hair stands up on end, that look of wanting to rip you apart and put you back together as something that is only his? You don’t have a shitfucking clue what that falls under other than ‘the sexiest possible thing’.

He leaves any form of mercy he had behind and starts a punishing pace. His hips are moving even more now and his hand is around your throat again. He’s squeezing just enough to make you dizzy and you cannot for the life of you remember how to say anything that isn’t his name.

He goes off first and to your absolute unabashed surprise, he doesn’t pull out of you. He’s using you as his pail and it is _so fucking filthy_ and that’s what tosses you over the edge.

You’ll be damned if you ever tell him, but you’re sure this is what miracles feel like. You can’t hardly breathe and every muscle in your body is tensed up like you’re been zapped with lightning but pleasure is what’s lighting up your nerves right now rather than pain. But it’s so intense it’s almost painful anyway. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the little tiny speck that isn’t being eaten whole by the best orgasm you’re sure you’ve ever had, you note that he didn’t touch your bulge even once.

When the sharp pleasure starts to fade, you’re left with something easier to bare but just as pleasant. It almost feels like you’re back in the days you were moirails, that kind of warm comfortable joy that you got every time you two had just finished a really wicked feelings jam and were piling together. As air starts to make it back to your think pan, you realize that’s because Gamzee is on top of you.

Normally you’d complain that he’s crushing you, because really he is he’s way to fucking big to be laying all over you like a barkbeast anymore. But you’re too tired to yell, even if you could remember how, and the low purr that’s rumbling from him is decidedly one of the best things ever.

“G-gonna unt-tie me?” You were right, your voice is more of a mess than usual.

“Check it.” Gamzee’s own voice has retreated from it’s previous growling back into something more recognizable, “Gotcha covered motherfucker.”

You glance down and find that he’s right. The ropes are off you and in a heap on the floor instead. Your genetic material has also been cleaned up as best as it could be and there’s a snuggle plane covering you both. How fucking long were you blissed out for Jegus.

“You all up and sacked out on me for a bit there brother.” Gamzee says and if you weren’t familiar with how it felt you’d suspect him of riffling through your think pan, “Musta been one hell of a good time you had. Didn’t even move when I scratched your belly.”

Wow. You hadn’t felt that at all. Fuck.

You’re sure your face is that terrible bright red and if moving were a thing you could do, you’d roll over to hide it.

“Yeah well, you did a good fucking job okay?”

Gamzee grins at you and it’s nothing like the way he smiled earlier, almost like he was a different troll then. He kisses your cheek and then your jaw and then back up to your forehead and all over there and it’s so romantic you think you might just start crying again.

“Quit it!” You hiss instead, “And get the fuck off you fucking giant ass murder clown, you’re way too goddamn big for this shit.”

Gamzee does as asked but he doesn’t really give you any more space, just rolling to the side a little so you can breathe. He knows you way too well to let go for at least the next hour and a half.

“Flushed for you.” He purrs.

Your bloodpusher gives this sloppy sort of thump when you look him in his eyes. They’re almost solid indigo now, framed by those ridiculously long upward facing hairs that make him look so goddamn tender all the fucking time. Well most of the time. He’s a wreck more often than not and he’s the craziest son of a bitch you’ve ever known and you hope it stays that way. He’s a pain in your ass every second his bloodpusher beats and you pity him so much you’re sure you could explode from it.

“Flushed for you too.” You murmur back and if you’re smiling, well that can be a secret just between you, him, and the night sky.

 

 


End file.
